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troubles, if we allow them to estrange our hearts and habits from the throne of grace.

THE CHRISTIAN IN AFFLICTION.

"COUNT it all joy when ye fall in divers temptations;" when God sees fit to afford you an occasion to strengthen, increase, and exemplify your Christian graces. It is joy, not in the act, but in the end. Affliction is the Christian's school. Here he is made to know himself and his God, his duty and his destiny. Here he learns the vanity of things temporal, and the value of things eternal. Disease invades, losses and disappointments betide, hope fails, sorrows overwhelm, the King of terrors frowns, and the reluctant soul is, as it were, compelled to loose his hold on sublunary things, and, almost involuntarily, stretch onward to see if there be not some enduring portion, some substantial good, some sure repose. And here, heaven invites his choice. The celestial portals open, and the voice of eternal love bids him enter. Martin Luther was wont to say, "I never knew the meaning of God's word, till I was afflicted."

Afflictions are a nursery, where some of the choicest trees of righteousness are trained for the upper paradise. Here they are pruned, and dug about, and made to grow, and mature, and bear fruit, ready for transplantation into a soil which is watered by the river which proceedeth out of the throne of God, and watched over by the eye of eternal love, and fanned by the breezes of heaven. Some trees expand in luxuriant branches, and display a rich foliage, yet bear no fruit. These the gardener cuts, sometimes to the very core, or removes the earth from their roots to check the luxuriance of their growth, that they may bear fruit. So the great Vine-dresser prunes and cuts the trees of righteousness, lays bare their roots to the rude blasts of adversity to check the luxuriance of their worldly growth, and to disrobe them of a superabundance of leaves and branches, that they may bear fruit to his praise. And even when they do bear fruit, he often " 'purges' them that they may bear more fruit.

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Afflictions rebuke worldly-mindedness, teach the nothingness of things seen and temporal, and the value of things unseen and eternal. Hence, says the Apostle, "Let patience have her perfect work;" let the salutary process go on; it has begun a good work, let it finish it. Let the trial of one grace strengthen that

grace and beget other kindred graces, till, in number complete, they shall become an entire family, filling and adorning the temple of the body," that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing." Let the process go on. Be patient. God is treating you as sons. Affliction may

follow in the wake of affliction. There will come only just enough to complete the work.

All may be exceedingly dark. You may be brought to your wit's end. Yet if you will lie low and listen, you will hear one say: "If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God." At such a time you will be constant in prayer; not so much for the removal of the trial, as for grace, patience, and wisdom to demean yourself properly under it, and to be able to derive from it instruction and spiritual profit. God is not indifferent to your condition he will kindly regard your requests; and if you ask in faith, he will give liberally and not upbraid your frequent approaches and fervent petitions.

Clouds and darkness may cover the mercy-seat; God may put the faith of his people to a severe test; Daniel may be cast among the lions, and his three pious friends into the fire; Apostles may be thrust into prison, or stoned and cast out for dead; yet God's love and care for his people never fail. "The brother of low degree" will “rejoice," be submissive, cheerful, contented, knowing that in his lot he is measurably removed from the temptations which riches and rank throw in the way of a holy life, and having in prospect, after he shall have traversed a little longer the lowly vale of poverty, and buffeted a little longer the cold blasts of adversity, a throne and a kingdom. Clouds here will make his heaven more serene. His poverty here will make his heaven richer. His sorrows here will make the joys of his felicity more joyous. the "rich man," if God see fit to eross him in his plans, disappoint him in his hopes, check him in his headlong scramble for the world, to lay his rod on him, to touch his flesh, to bereave him, and make him feel how vain is his trust in uncertain riches, and to direct his aspiring, grasping mind onward and upward to a better inheritance, the rich man may rejoice for such salutary though afflictive dispensations.

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It has been well said by some one, that God's people are "like stars, that shine brightest in the darkest night; like gold, that is brighter for the furnace;

THEOLOGY.

like incense, that becomes fragrant by burning; like the chamomile plant, that grows fastest when trampled on."Christian Intelligencer.

PUBLIC WORSHIP.

Ir we carry a garland of flowers, gathered only an hour before, and still wet with the dew of the morning, along the crowded street of a city, we shall soon discover that the silver dew has been dried up, and the bloom rubbed from the leaf. Religion, whose rewards are so dimly descried by the mortal eye, has to contest the superiority with temporal aggrandizement and present glory, whose treasures are distinctly visible, and whose rewards are immediate and magnificent. Even the long-watching and steadfast eye of the Christian pilgrim will sometimes involuntarily turn away from the contemplation of the crystal towers of the New Jerusalem, beheld gleaming with a faint and uncertain lustre over the distant horizon, and rest in momentary admiration upon the golden cities which the tempter has spread around. Never, then, let us plead anything in excuse of our nonattendance upon the duties of the Sabbath. Let the evening of the Saturday find us flying down, like tired wanderers, at the gate of the holy temple. For our own part, we may affirm with all humility, that we never entered a place of worship without feeling a quiet and delightful serenity diffused over our senses, like a traveller who suddenly turns away from the burning and dusty road, into the cool and refreshing shadows of the forest. The animosities of our heart, and the evil prompting of our passions, (and who shall say that from these he is exempted?) rapidly die away, and we walk out into the business and tumult of life with our heart invigorated, and our love of piety renewed and strengthened. God is of a truth, as Jeremy Taylor has nobly said, included in no place, not bound with cords, not divided into parts, not changeable into several shapes, filling heaven and earth with his present power and his never-absent nature. We may, indeed, imagine him to be as the air and the sea, and "we all enclosed in his circle, wrapped up in the lap of his infinite nature." Let us, therefore, pray by the bank-side, and in the fragrant grass, standing and walking, and sitting down; for the voice of thanksgiving ought to be as a lyre, whose music is never silent: but let us remember, in the words of the glorious

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Divine from whom we have quoted, that though "God will go out of his way to meet his saints,"-yet that God's "usual way is to be present in those places where his servants are appointed ordinarily to meet."-British Critic, July, 1832.

THE LOVE OF GOD!

WHY, brethren, that is a vast subjecta subject which would not occupy us for hours, but shall occupy the redeemed for eternity! It is the constant theme both of the damned and the redeemed, of the lost and of the saved. The lost, as they toss on their fiery bed, restlessly and unavailingly trying to ease their position, and relieve their pain, ah! they think of the love of Christ, of many a precious Sabbath and many a Gospel sermon, when that love was offered; and now they wonder and curse the madness, the blindness, which rejected it. And what is spoken and sung of in the hymns of heaven? "The love of God in Christ

Jesus!"-this is the sweetest, loftiest, noblest theme that tongue can speak of, pen can write of, mind can think of, harp can praise, or heart can feel! To preach it, is the office of Ministers; to embrace it, is the salvation of sinners; to despise it, is the loss of souls; and to prefer to it the love of sin, is the highest insult to Jehovah. To know it lost, is the bitterest curse of hell; to know it gained, the highest happiness of heaven. Well may we say of the love of God what Luther said of music: "If I were to speak of it, I would not know where to begin, and I would not know when to end."-Rev. Thomas Guthrie.

WE DO NOT PRAY ENOUGH.

FELIX NEFF once made the following comparison:"When a pump is frequently used, but little pains are necessary to first stroke, because it is high. But if the have water the water pours out at the pump has not been used for a long time, the water gets low; and when you want it, you must pump a long while, and the is so with prayer: if we are instant in water comes only after great efforts. prayer, every little circumstance awakens the disposition to pray, and desires and words are always ready. But if we neglect prayer, it is difficult for us to pray; for the water in the well gets low."

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"TO DIE IS GAIN." THE people of God are, even to the end, a suffering people, and an afflicted people. Although, as the Apostle says, they are acknowledged as "living stones in the temple of the Lord," they are not yet wholly prepared and meetened for the glorious station they are to occupy hereafter. Therefore, that our heavenly Father may shape and fashion them according to his will, he is continually subjecting them to the sharp instruments of temptation and adversity, to render them fit for his temple in the New Jerusalem. In their families, in their fortunes, in their health, in their connexions, there are for ever, while on earth, some marks of the parental rod, some trials even for How the dearest of God's children. widely different will it be when they are removed into the edifice for which they are now preparing! We are told in holy writ that in the building of Solomon's temple the sounds of the axe and the hammer were never heard. The stones were all hewn at the quarries, and prepared and polished at a distance, and then silently placed one upon another in that magnificent edifice, where they remained sacred and inviolable. How beautiful a similarity to the manner in which the Great Architect is, even at the present hour, preparing these living stones for the heavenly temple! This world is the quarry in which he is subjecting them to the most cutting afflictions, and the sharpest sorrows; but when He who has "loved thein, and given himself for them," shall present them, "not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing," and carry them forth, and place them in the eternal building, the sounds of the axe and the hammer shall be no more heard; for there, and there alone, is "quietness and assurance for ever." Of that innumerable company there is no eye that weeps, no breast that sighs, no tongue that complains. "The rest that remaineth for the people of God" is complete, the joy of which they partake is unmixed, the inheritance to which they are called is "undefiled, and fadeth not away." Still further, if, as we have seen, "to die is gain," because the happiness which succeeds it is immediate and uninterrupted, more obviously is it so because this happiness is eternal in its duration. It is perhaps in this view of the subject, even more than in any other, that the gains of

death are manifest: for it is this that stamps a perpetuity upon all that we have obtained. On earth the happiest hours pass the most quickly; and the tenderest relationships are often the most suddenly dissolved. Even in spiritual things the same imperfection mingles. A Sabbath-day of peace, and we again pass into the business and bustle of the world; a few hours of daily reading or meditation, and the cares and troubles of life are again clamorous at our hearts; a few moments of near communion with our God, and we are again cold, and languid, and insensible. It will not be so then: there will be love, and adoration, and praises, always the same, and always new. "They rest not day nor night" from their perfect services, is the description of the worshippers of the heavenly temple; no coldness, no deadness, no languor, no fatigue, ever intervenes. There is no satiety for the present, no solicitude for the future. Were there the slightest possibility of a termination to those joys, their attractions would be at an end, every moment would be dimmed with the anticipation of the hour when all should cease; and the more exquisite the joy, the more bitter the pang inflicted by the thought of its suspension or its loss. But, blessed be God, he has himself declared that they who enter there shall be for ever with the Lord. The revolutions of ages are under their feet, and interfere not with their happiness. Millions of shall roll away, and leave years an eternity still behind for them to enjoy and worship God. How desirable a state must that be whose happiness and perpetuity shall, for the first time as regards ourselves, be inseparably united! How blessed a harmony when the full chorus of heaven shall sing, "This God is our God for ever and ever!"-Rev, Henry Blunt.

BASKET OF FRAGMENTS.

YE did it unto me, or ye did it not unlo me these are the terms of aggravation in which the Saviour depicts himself describing every act, and by which he informs us that, as he sits on the throne of judgment, the great centre of the congregated world, every act will be seen like a line pointing to him as its object and end, or else in forgetfulness and enmity diverging from him, and losing itself in outer darkness.-Harris.

DIVINE PROVIDENCE ILLUSTRATED.

REMARKABLE INSTANCES OF THE POWER OF FAITH AND PRAYER.

THE Rev. John Wills, Rector of Morval, near Loo, was an eminent instance of piety and devotion. His prayers and endeavours for the conversion of his people and children were attended with great success, which induced him to break out in a transport of joy, when upon his death-bed, in the following words:-"My blessings have prevailed above the blessings of my progenitors. Of my ten children, nine have a work of grace, I hope, on their minds; and for my youngest son, I die in the faith of a plentiful harvest. He shall be converted also, after my decease." There was great reason to believe it was as he expected. That youngest son became a worthy Conformist Minister. His eldest son was Mr. Jonathan Wills, of Exeter College, Oxford, whose conversion, in his father's lifetime, was very remarkable. He had been wild and extravagant, and had committed some offence, for which he was forced to flee

from the King's army. His father had prevailed with several Ministers, then at Plymouth, and other good people, to spend a day in prayer, in behalf of this prodigal son. While they were engaged in this exercise the prodigal arrived, and found them assembled and praying for him. Before they had well finished, he was dissolved into tears; and, falling on his knees, begged his father's pardon; and from that day proved to be eminently serious.

Mr. John Nosworthy, M.A., a Nonconformist Minister, ejected from Ippleden, in Devonshire, was several times reduced to great straits; but he encouraged himself in the Lord his God, and exhorted his wife to do the same. Nor was it in vain. Once, when he and his family had breakfasted, and had nothing left for another meal, his wife lamented their condition, and said, "What shall I do with my poor children?" He persuaded her to walk abroad with them; and, seeing a little bird, said to her, "Take notice how that bird sits and chirps, though we cannot tell whether it has been at breakfast; and if it has, it certainly knows not whither to go for a dinner. Therefore, be of good cheer, and do not distrust the providence of God; for, are we not better than many sparrows?" Before dinner-time they had plenty of provision brought them.

The following remarkable circumstance is recorded in the life of the Rev. Robert Bilio, a Nonconformist Minister, ejected from Wickham-Bishop, in Essex; the insertion of

which, in your Magazine, may be useful to some of your readers. I am no enthusiast myself, neither do I wish to encourage enthusiasm in others; yet I am of opinion, that if greater attention were paid to the drawings of the Holy Spirit, and more frequent recourse were had to prayer in affliction, as well as in other trials, we should more frequently have cause to acknowledge, that the prayer of faith was blessed to the healing of those sick in body as well as in mind:

"Whilst Mr. Bilio was at Hatfield Peverel, he was seized with the gout, which took away the use of both his legs, and of one arm, so that he was scarcely able to go with crutches. After he had been in this condition for some time, being one day alone in his parlour, he felt his mind drawn to go to prayer, when, with some difficulty, he crept up into his chamber, and poured out his soul before the Lord. Whilst he was praying he found himself strengthened; and when he arose from his knees, his pain was gone, and he walked as well as ever. He came to his wife, with great joy, and told her of God's goodness to him; but at first she could hardly tell how to believe him."

In addition to the above remarkable case, I add one to which I was an eye-witness, when stationed at Birmingham. A poor

man, who had been long afflicted with a grievous pain in his back and loins, and had been thereby prevented from following his occupation, and very much reduced in his temporal circumstances, after having, for some time, tried the faculty and the power of medicine to no purpose, was relieved in the following extraordinary way :-Attending at our chapel, in Deritend, one Lord's day, with his wife, to receive the sacrament, whilst I was exhorting the people to have faith in the efficacy of the blood of Christ to heal and cleanse the soul, the thought powerfully occurred to his mind, that He, who could heal the soul, was as capable of healing the body, and, therefore, he would trust in Him for that purpose. With these sentiments, and in this disposition of mind, with eyes suffused with tears, and a heart lifted up to God in prayer, he drew near to the table of the Lord; and while the cup of blessing was yet at his lips, his disease fled away, his body was restored to perfect soundness, and he was enabled the next day to prosecute his labour as usual. I have stated the case just as it was: your readers may put what construction upon it they think proper.

PARENTAL MONITOR.

FAMILY CHANGES.

IT is a pleasing sight to view the family circle when the beams of hope illumine the countenance of the father and the mother as they anxiously watch their tender offspring. The summer-walks and the winter evening's fire-side have charms of a peculiar kind. But who can tell the various changes that in future years await those who in early life bask beneath the sunshine of their parents' smiles? Ere many years have rolled away, the joys of the present may vanish, and yield to the shadows of disappointment and grief.

If on such occasions, when the jocund band are sporting beneath the domestic roof, it were possible to break the golden bowl that enshrines the present from the future, what a varied succession of thought would rush in upon the parent's mind. How pleasingly delightful would it be to gaze upon those on whom prosperity would smile; while sadly bitter would be the rushing reflection if only one out of the whole family was doomed to experience misfortune's frown. Often when gazing upon a family, the mirthful innocence and unity that reigned within each breast have filled my heart with a glow of admiring joy; and who can be insensible to the winning influence of such a scene? But the thought of coming years has gathered a shadow around that interesting picture of youthful glee, and made the heart sigh with fearful apprehension.

Let us for a moment glance at a family rising up into life. It may be, fifteen summer-suns have risen and set on the brow of the first-born boy. Time with him has passed heedlessly and almost imperceptibly away. Weeks, months, and years, have rolled on as smoothly as the silvery stream. But now he is about to enter a new stage of life; and, it may be, for the first time his soul pours forth a flood of grief at leaving the home of his youth. The tender mother imprints the parting token of affection; the father, with parental eloquence and kindness, imparts his faithful counsels; while the tears of parents and son mingling together like the fabled Lethean stream, cause them to forget all the past petulances of childhood, in their anxiety for the future. It is now some years since I left the home of my boyhood, yet well do I remember, and never shall I forget, the short but powerful appeal of a father's parting counsel, urging me to look to the Lord for guidance and support. Those words made a lasting impression on my young heart, and in many instances, I doubt not, have had a salutary influence, like the compass to the mariner, enabling me, by divine help, to steer my frail bark amid the

storms and winds which have often threatened its entire destruction.

But to return to the family circle. One and another are removed from the paternal roof, until, like the perfume of the garden borne to distant parts on the wings of the wind, all are fulfilling their various avocations in different parts of the world. The stream still gurgles at the foot of the mountain, the watermill still performs its continuous revolutions, the feathered minstrels still pour forth their tide of song, the trees that stud the favourite grove still sigh to the evening breeze, the village-bells still ring out their rustic melody to the passing gale, but the youthful band that once gave life and soul to the scene is not there to reconnoitre the favourite haunts of childhood, or make their father's halls resound as in by-gone days with joyous mirth. These have been succeeded by another train as undimmed by care as the former. And soon these must give place to another band of woodland rangers, equally joyous as the former. Thus life is made up of vicissitude and change, until our stage is terminated, and the greensward o'er-mantling the grave, the great drama of human life is brought to a close.

But the picture, although thus gloomily drawn, is not altogether dark and dreary. There are occasionally cheering rays of light to be seen darting through the avenue of life. It is true, distance may separate parent and child, and years may elapse before the pleasures of a happy meeting are enjoyed. But there is a union of spirit which even distance or time cannot rend asunder. There is a meeting-place to which all are invited; there is the throne of grace, around which distant friends may join hearts, though not voices, together, and feel that the link which binds them is yet unbroken. There is something soothingly impressive in the thought of friends in places wide apart, at the same hour, to the same heavenly Parent, pouring out their hearts' desires for each other's welfare. How delightful the influence on the mind of the child, as he retires to his closet at the appointed hour, when he feels, My mother is praying for me now !

There is a pleasing association in the word "home" to be found in no other. With what anxious fondness does the mind revert to the scenes of childhood, when we wandered amid the leafy grove, and the birds poured forth their strains in our ears! In afteryears with what glowing rapture do we gaze upon the stream which still flows unimpeded as in by-gone days, save that the mouldering touch of time has extended its banks to a wider space! How delightedly

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